What Bobby Sees
by motorcyclesfly
Summary: Bobby decides that sometimes, it's better not to know.


I've noticed.

The subtle shift of her body when he walks into the room, jutting her hip out just a little so he will brush against it when he passes by. How his eyes take on a glassy sheen when he looks at her, those lingering glances that last just a heartbeat too long. The faint blush of pink on her cheeks when she notices those glances, the almost inaudible rumble in his throat when his eyes scan the room and find mine. Challenging, that. Threatening. Like when he runs a hand over her back or cups her chin, staking a claim. I can almost hear him thinking "mine" every time he looks at her.

I've noticed it all.

Lately, I've noticed more.

She's gone a lot, gone for no reason. One night we did dishes together, she washed, I dried. I set the last plate on the towel and turned to say something to her, and she wasn't there anymore, just her trailing perfume, a light, faint scent she wears watered down so it doesn't offend his sensitive nose. I noticed the conversation she had with Storm later, the professor tight-lipped with annoyance flashing in her eyes, Rogue's own expression dreamy and distant. I went to her room much later but she was gone again, a wet towel from a quick shower left on the floor, dampening the carpet, a hairbrush discarded on the mantle, the promise ring I gave her left by the sink, her motorcycle helmet gone.

I've noticed too much, but it leaves me without answers. Every new clue invites new questions. Like "where were you?" and "do you love me?". Words I don't ask, because I notice the way her eyes dart away from me as if watching something behind my back. I notice that she nods at the right moments and doesn't say a word before she goes away. The questions she won't answer turn into arguments she won't fight. She tells me to get a life, to be mature, to grow up. She's grown up a lot, I guess. One man seems to notice most of all.

"Hand me that wrench, Bobby," orders Logan as I step into the garage. He's flat on his back underneath the car that used to belong to Cyclops, which he's pretty much commandeered. Everything that used to be Scott's is his now, well, everything except Jean. She's in the ground, side by side with her husband. _Where she belongs_, I think, feeling righteous. No one in the mansion has forgotten how Logan practically made a career of trying to steal Scott's girl. Now he's moved onto mine.

"Here." I pass him the tool, a little spooked that he detected my scent over the powerful odor of motor oil and solvents. For a minute I hover near his feet, looking at his legs. He's got muscles, that much is obvious. Is that what Rogue likes so much?

After a while he slides out from under the car and stands up. He doesn't look threatened by me, or nervous. Not at all. I'm starting to feel a little uncomfortable though. The tight black tee-shirt displays his biceps pretty well, but even without that build he's got a nice set of claws that could dissect a human being in ten seconds flat. And I'm not his favorite person by a long-shot. Mustering up what's left of the bravado I came in here with, I look him straight in the eye. "I need to talk to you."

"All right." He eases back so he's sitting on the hood of the car. "What about?"

_You know what, you bastard,_ I think, but keep my cool. Rogue won't even talk about how it felt to be impaled on those claws, it was that awful I suppose, and I can't steal his healing power like she did. "About Rogue."

All at once, the air seems to be sucked out of the garage. What's left flickers with tension. Logan's voice is feigned calm but I can hear his heartbeat pick up speed. "What about her?"

"She and I, um --" I curse myself silently. I'd had a whole speech worked out, about how she was my girl and I'd stuck by her all those times he'd abandoned her in search of answers about his past and he had no right wanting her now. "We're together, you know. She's my girlfriend." He narrows his eyes at this but says nothing. "I just wanted you to know."

"That all?" He slides off the car hood and goes over to the tool box, rummaging roughly through it.

"Uh, no. I think - I think she's spending too much time with you. And I want to know why. What's going on with you two?"

Now he smirks. There is anger beneath the look, sparking in his eyes like flint. "You tell me," he drawls.

"I think something's going on," I tell him finally. He freezes. "She hasn't told me, if there is. She never says anything to me anymore. So, I'm asking you, because I need to know. I really love her and," I pause, my voice breaking. "If there is something, it's got to stop."

"That so?" His voice is suddenly devoid of emotion. "How'd it go when you told her this?"

Shifting, I shrug. "I haven't told her yet."

"Now's your chance to find out," he retorts, nodding towards the open door. I turn around just in time to see Rogue walk in. She's wearing skin-tight jeans that smooth over her hips like a second skin, and I know at once that if I had senses as keen as Logan's, I'd smell his arousal mingling with the smell of gasoline and orange pumice cleanser. My girlfriend stops short when she sees me, her smile fading and her eyes widening.

"Bobby?"

"Hey, Rogue," I offer, weakly.

"What are you doing here?"

"Warning the big, bad wolf off his girl," Logan answers bitterly before I have a chance to say anything. He is both amused and furious as he drops the wrench back into the toolbox and walks over to her. "I've been properly chastened. Ready to go?"

"In a minute." She sidesteps him as he starts to put an arm around her shoulders and crosses over towards me. I can see the anger burning in her eyes, but also the red flush of her cheeks. She's embarrassed and feels guilty, that much is obvious. "I can't believe you. You have no right to decide who I'm friends with."

"If it was just friendship I wouldn't," I answer back, starting to get angry. I can't believe she's still pretending it's just friendship, just harmless flirtation. She's not that naive. The bulge in Logan's pants is painfully obvious, and she never wears those tight jeans for me.

"You're crazy, there's nothing going on." She glances back at Logan, who raises an eyebrow. "Nothing. Look, can we talk about this later? I've really got to go."

"Fine."

She gives me a grateful smile that doesn't meet her eyes, but the grin widens when she looks back over at Logan, who ushers her toward the bike. "There's nothing going on, Bobby. I promise," she tells me as she swings a leg over the motorcycle. Logan climbs on behind her. "We're just friends," she says as he pulls her back against him and wraps one arm around her waist. It's hard to miss the way he nuzzles at her neck, breathing in the clean scent of her hair, or the way his hand settles on her thigh possessively.

She guns the bike and Logan tips me a wink. "I'll bring her back in one piece."

Unlike my heart, which feels shattered, I guess. Nodding, I watch Rogue gun the engine as Logan slides his hand further up her thigh. Then she turns the bike and they are gone, flying down the driveway so as to race the gate, both of them virtually indestructible, since she can steal whatever powers she needs to recover if they get into a crash. I watch the dust clouds the bike kicks up until they are no longer visible and then go back inside. I've got homework to finish up, and then I'm going to play poker with Pete until I've lost all my money or he decides to go to bed, whatever comes first. I'll be awake when she comes back to me, exuberant and windblown, her lips red from kissing Logan, his taste still on her. She'll say her lips are chapped from the wind, that her glow is from the exhilarating ride, not his hands on her, and I'll believe her this time, without question. Because, sometimes, it's better not to notice.


End file.
